Page 3 of A Package Deal

Rosemary kindly waved me off, walking in the opposite direction to question some kids going to the bathroom when they should have been in their classrooms. I rushed through the office and absently waved at the staff there before exiting the school and practically running to my beat-up truck. I’d have to get a better truck one of these days, but I didn’t want to waste any money on that when this one still got the job done. Though I was in a hurry, I didn’t overlook the rush of pride I felt at seeing my company logo on the side of the truck door.

M Builds.

All in stocky font. Masculine. Informative. Not fancy.

As I drove to the other side of the small town of Blueball, I couldn’t help grinning. Nothing I loved more than seeing my company name and knowing I was finally living my dream. Having Georgia had certainly been a bump in the road (a good one, don’t get me wrong), but I was back on my feet. I also loved that when people hired me, they usually didn’t know they were hiring a female general contractor. M Builds was short for Matriarchy Builds. I didn’t advertise my business as woman-owned for obvious reasons. Most men didn’t think I could do half the things I did on a daily basis. Better to secure the job and then surprise the hell out of them.

The only issue I was having was finding a dedicated crew. Most of the interviews went south when they started mouthing off to me about how much more they thought they knew than me. I was finding that most men didn’t want to take orders from a woman. The ones who didn’t mind weren’t always the best at their jobs, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. At least not at this point of my business. Once I was established here in Blueball, I could assemble a highly skilled crew, dedicated to my business only.

Pulling into the mobile home park, I quickly found Betty’s single-wide. She was an eighty-something-year-old who’d hired me to replace the skirting around her mobile home. The current skirting was made of thin strips of wood that had seen a few decades of rain and sun, slowly deteriorating it. My job today was to rip it all off, assess the structure underneath, and then make a plan for replacing it all tomorrow. Vinyl would hold up better, but it was more expensive.

Closing my truck door, I reached into the back and pulled on my tool belt. Both the leather strap and the tools hanging from it had been a Christmas present when I turned eighteen. Mom knew how much I loved to build things with my hands. She’d never made me feel like my gender somehow made me an inferior builder.

I knocked on Betty’s door and she opened it immediately, just like the other day when I’d been here to give her an estimate on the job. She probably peeked out her window the second she heard a car coming down her street. “Good morning, Betty.”

“Is it though?” she groused, her gray hair in rollers and a threadbare bathrobe tied tightly around her waist.

I shrugged. “Still alive, so I’d say that’s pretty good.”

She harrumphed. “I looked at your estimate again. We better do wood, not that plastic shit. I’ll be dead before the wood goes bad.”

I bit back a smile since talking about one’s impending death was nothing to laugh about. And she had a good point. “Sure thing. I just wanted to let you know I’m getting started.”

Betty grunted and closed the door.

Okay, then. Not a morning person. I spun on my boots and headed for the far end of the mobile home where the damage was the worst. I always liked to get the hardest parts of the job done in the morning before it got too hot. The work became monotonous, my mind running through a constant to-do list. Rip off the wood slats, throw them into a pile, then go back and pull out any nails with the end of my hammer. Move to the next section. The midday sun started to beat down on my neck, making me glad I’d thought to put on sunscreen when I got ready this morning. I didn’t want to break for lunch until I got all the dirty demo work done but my stomach was letting out a racket.

I’d almost made it all the way around to the place where I’d started when I ran into a problem. When I ripped off the wood panel, a giant black spider plopped down on my forearm, just above the edge of the work gloves I was wearing. I let go of the wood and swiped at my arm the same time I let out a yelp. The spider fell somewhere in the grass and I jumped around a few times before I was sure it wasn’t on my boot and about to exact revenge.

Listen, I could build a goddamn house from foundation to rooftop, but introduce a spider into the equation and I was fucking done. Done, I tell you. And before anyone started to call me a sissy for being afraid of an insect much smaller than me, let me assure you that I had good reason. When I was twenty, I’d been on a jobsite with my ex, Cayden, and I was bitten by a spider. As I swiped it off my arm, I could have sworn I saw a violin shape on its back. I’d freaked out, of course, because brown recluse spider bites were incredibly dangerous. Cayden had gotten me ice and Benadryl, but there wasn’t much of a reaction. He assumed I overreacted, but I knew I was damn lucky the thing hadn’t had a chance to bite me. Ever since, I’d been super jumpy around the eight-legged creatures.

I sucked in a deep breath, and when I couldn’t see the offending thing anywhere in the grass, I stepped back up to the mobile home. “Get it together, Em.” I had a job to do and money to make. Running away from a single spider wasn’t going to earn me a good reputation in town.

I crouched down, not seeing another spider, but knowing I’d have to get the wood slats that had broken off and now lay partially under the mobile home. Crawling, I grabbed a few sticks and tossed them backward into the grass. Reaching again for the last two sticks, I felt something soft brush my arms. I reared back, unable to see well in the dim light below the mobile home, but there it was again, this time on my neck.

A strangled scream erupted from my mouth and I moved faster than I’d ever moved before. I sprang to my feet, nearly clipping my head on the mobile home. A pinch on the back of my neck had me swiping wildly, along with jumping around in a circle. Visions of brown recluses crawling all over my skin had me in a panic. I couldn’t die. Who would look after Georgia?

I ripped off my gloves and swiped at my skin, more screams and yelps leaving my mouth. Something brushed my neck again and there was nothing for it. I stripped off my T-shirt and would have stripped off my sports bra if it hadn’t been for the masculine laughter from behind me.

I froze, assessing. No more brushes of anything along my skin. Just the hot sun beating down on my exposed torso and someone behind me, still chuckling. Whirling around in a panicked rage, I took in the man before me. He had on designer jeans and cowboy boots that would have looked totally normal on a country music star up on stage performing. The tattoos lining his bulging arms said blue collar, but the plain T-shirt molded to his muscular upper body looked like it had been spun from expensive Mulberry silk instead of the cotton I wore.

Or did wear. My shirt was currently in a heap in the grass.

His beautiful mouth was quirked upward in a smile that pissed me off as much as it turned me on. He was laughing at me, and yet that smile spoke to the small amount of feminine interest I still possessed even after swearing off men. I became acutely aware of being half naked in a sports bra—one that was old and stretched out, no less—while on a jobsite. I swallowed hard.

“There was a spider on me,” I said lamely.

He held his hands up, that fucking smirk still on his face. “Don’t stop dancing on my account. I was enjoying the show.”

That got my hackles up. My hands clenched into fists. “It was a spider. On my arm and my neck.”

He dropped his hands, a wink of one golden-brown eye adding to the smirk. “Sure. Whatever you say.”

I opened my mouth to defend myself again, but he beat me to it.

“I’m just looking for the general contractor for M Builds. You wouldn’t happen to know where he is, would you?”

Well, shit. This just got more awkward. I bent over and swiped my shirt off the grass, shaking it out vigorously before I inspected it for any spiders clinging to the fabric. When I was sure it was insect-free, I pulled it over my head and faced the strange man again. My ponytail had given up somewhere in the struggle, more than a few sections of hair hanging in my face, but there was nothing I could do about that now. Looking professional was important to me and appearing half naked in front of a potential client was horrifying for so many reasons.

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